


The Serial Killer Job

by phantisma



Category: Leverage/Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time I wrote: <a href="http://phantisma.livejournal.com/342983.html">The Cold Comfort Job</a> ...then along came this piece.  Eliot finds that the team has come up against a mark better suited to Reid's team than his own, but when he realizes that they can't pin the gruesome deaths on the man, he does sets himself up to be the man's next target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Serial Killer Job

"Nate, Parker isn't out yet." Eliot said, his voice tense, his eyes sweeping the area again.

"Give her a few minutes." Nate responded in his ear.

Parker should have been there. "I don't like this."

He moved so that his back was against the brick wall, where he could see the doors to the building, the alley beside it and the whole courtyard area. Parker should have never gone in alone, not in a building where she couldn't use comms or even take a cell phone inside.

He spotted her then, moving quickly, out the front door her face pale as she darted between people who would never even know she was there. Eliot looked past her. She was being followed and she knew it.

Relief crossed her face when she spotted him and her pace hastened just a bit. Eliot pushed off the wall, slipping into her path, his arm around her waist, dragging her to him. "I've got her."

"Okay, both of you get back here." Nate said.

"Once I shake the tail she picked up." Eliot growled.

He spun them off into an alley, pressed Parker into a doorway, squeezing in beside her, waiting to see if it was enough. A shadow crossed the alley, stopping briefly. Eliot waited another minute, then nodded, tilting his head to the far end of the alley.

A few blocks away, Parker stopped him with a hand on his arm, shaking her head as he turned to her. Agile fingers plucked the ear bud from his ear, her hand closing around it.

"We can't take this job." She said it quietly, her eyes meeting his. There was fear in those eyes, like nothing he'd seen from Parker before.

"Why?"

She licked her lips. "What I saw…" She shook her head, taking a step away. Her hands were shaking as she reached into her jacket and pulled out a thumb. "Eliot, this isn't our job."

He squinted at her. She was afraid. That was something he didn't see often. "Tell me."

"I got in…Coleman's computer. He had a hidden partition, I got in just like Hardison showed me." She shivered and held up the thumb drive. "That's all of it."

 

"What is it?" Eliot asked.

She bit her lip. "He's not just some corrupt corporate boss, Eliot. I counted at least twenty different names, pictures. He likes to cut them up…he…"

Eliot nodded, stopping her by taking the thumb drive from her. "Let me have a look at it." Obviously he was something far more dangerous. "Okay? You tell Nate it got too hot before you could get anything. It should stall him, at least until I can figure out what we're going to do."

"What about you?"

He took the earbud back from her. "Tell Nate I had some personal business to take care of. I'll be back later."

He stuffed the earbud in his pocket and watched her go. He needed some place quiet with a computer so he could get a look at just how sick Coleman was.

 

 

It didn't take long for Eliot to agree with Parker. This was not their job. This was something even Nate couldn't see coming. Coleman was a serial killer. A sick, sadistic serial killer who kept records. Names, ages, where he found them, how he caught them…detailed information about their lives, video recordings of his "sessions" with them, how they eventually died.

Because Coleman didn't just kill. He kept each victim alive for a long time, torturing them.

The only problem was, Nate had a client. And Nate wasn't likely to back down easily.

Eliot made a copy of the thumb drive and hid it in his loft.

He paced up and down his kitchen. From what he could tell, this man had been killing for years…decades even. And no one suspected him.

Hell, no one had even connected the deaths. No bodies were ever found.

He couldn't let his team near this.

Taking a deep breath, Eliot pulled out his earbud and slipped it in his ear. "Hardison?"

"It's about damn time."

"Hardison, listen—"

"Nate is—"

"Hardison." Eliot growled the name. "Tell Nate I may have a way in, but it's going to take me a few days."

"A few days?" Nate's voice filled his ear. Eliot sighed.

"Yeah, I have to go see someone. Just sit tight until I get back. You hear me?"

"You have two days, Eliot. Then I'm finding another way in."

Eliot nodded to himself, pulled the earpiece out and set it on the counter. He had a plane to catch.

 

 

Eliot stood staring at the building, his fists tight at his side. He couldn't believe he was actually about to walk in that door willingly. He exhaled and closed his eyes. He had no choice. He needed to get them to Portland before Nate decided on some crazy scam that would likely lead to one, or more, or them dead.

He shoved a hand in his pocket, checking that the thumb drive was still there, then headed into the building. He didn't look around, just crossed to the front desk.

"Good morning. I'm here to see Dr. Spencer Reid."

The guard looked at him, and nodded. "And your name?"

Eliot licked his lips. "Eliot Spencer."

"Is Dr. Reid expecting you?"

Eliot shook his head. "No, but if you tell him I'm here, I'm sure he'll make time for me."

He exhaled, tried to marshal his nerves. This was not a place he wanted to be.

"Sir, Dr. Reid will be down momentarily."

Eliot nodded his thanks, pacing away, his eyes watching the banks of elevators. Reid bustled past the people milling around, trying to get on the elevator he just got off, and circled the security desk, one hand reaching out for Eliot's elbow, steering him away toward the windows, concern on his face. "What are you doing here?"

Eliot offered a tight smile. "Came to see you."

Reid shook his head. "You…here." He sighed and gathered himself. "You're asking for trouble. My boss is still sore over that disappearing act you pulled."

Eliot nodded. "I have something for you. For your team."

That changed the look on his face from one of concern to one of confusion. "My team?"

Eliot nodded again. "It's…bad, Spence." He pulled the thumb drive out of his pocket. "If I'm right, my team stumbled onto the most prolific, unknown serial killer of our time."

Reid's face was tight as he took the thumb drive. "What's on it?"

"Pictures, recordings, journal entries. He's very detailed." Eliot watched him absorb the information.

Intelligent eyes met his. "He who?"

"Mark Coleman. He's been killing since he was a teenager. He's careful, he's meticulous. From the stuff I watched, he never appears on camera enough to be identified. And…I don't know what he does with the bodies, but they're never found."

"Eliot…" Reid was obviously uncertain about taking it. "How exactly did you get this?"

He closed his eyes and shrugged a little. "You can't use it to get a search warrant if that's what you're asking." Eliot touched his hand and met his eyes. "I'm serious, Spencer. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

He smiled a little then and nodded. "Eliot Spencer, walking into the FBI on his own. That's got to be a first." He licked his lips. "You know I can't just take this and let you walk out the door. We can't act on this."

"If you don't, my team is going to be in serious trouble." Eliot said. "Nate's already angry. I need to have a reason he can't go after this guy."

"Reid." They both looked up. Eliot recognized the man coming at them as one of the team that was with him on the mountain the year before, the man in the elevator with him.

"Morgan."

Eliot knew he should bolt, but his hand was still on Reid's hand with the thumb drive there in his fingers as Morgan came to a stop, his dark eyes flicking over Eliot, then Reid then back. "You left me hanging."

"I'm sorry, Morgan. This is…" his voice trailed off and his eyes looked at Eliot with a question.

Eliot cleared his throat. "Eliot. Eliot Spencer."

Morgan shook his hand, eyes narrowing. "Do I know you?"

"Not exactly. We've never met."

"How do you know my boy here?"

There was something protective and suspicious in the way Morgan looked at him, and Reid was starting to blush. "Eliot brought us…" He held up the thumb drive, letting Eliot's hand fall away. Morgan raised an eyebrow. "He thinks there's a serial killer in Portland."

Morgan crossed his arms, eyeing Eliot up and down. "Does he now? You law enforcement?"

Eliot smirked and glanced aside at Reid. The poor kid was decidedly uncomfortable with this. "I think we both know that isn't likely." He took the thumb drive from Reid. "I took a chance coming here. Reid and I have history. This man is a monster. He needs to be dealt with."

Morgan looked at him hard, then nodded. "Alright then, why don't you come upstairs. We'll have a look."

"And run my name." Eliot pocketed the thumb drive, nodding once. "Fine. But understand that I came to you. I didn't have to." He didn't like the idea of getting on that elevator, and he could tell Reid wasn't exactly comfortable with it either. "It's fine." Eliot said softly as the doors closed.

Reid didn't relax though, if anything his body language tightened up even more. Morgan squinted at Eliot. "The elevator at the lodge." Morgan said as the doors opened. "You were the one with Reid, helped him bring the victims down the mountain."

Eliot raised an eyebrow. "Storm trapped us both up there."

"Reid never did explain what it was you were doing up there."

"No I suppose he didn't." They stopped, staring at one another just outside the glass doors with the BAU inside. It was closer than he'd ever been, or ever wanted to be to the inner workings of the FBI. These weren't the earnest, but bumbling grunts they used to their advantage when it suited them.

These were men and women who were trained to see through his bullshit. He couldn't play them. His only option here was honesty.

"Morgan? Reid?" the voice didn't break their stares, then Morgan did blink and lick his lips.

"Hotch, this here is Eliot Spencer. Says he found a serial killer in Portland."

"Mr. Spencer, I'm SSA Hotchner."

Eliot blinked away from Morgan to look at the new speaker. Tall, straight, tense, authoritative. Eliot nodded tightly and turned to shake his hand. "Agent Hotchner, I realize this is not the way you normally get your cases, but as soon as I saw the evidence, I knew your team needed to see it."

"Where did you get this evidence?"

"You really don't want to know." Reid said, pushing Eliot toward the doors. Reid led him up a set of stairs into a conference room and held out his hand for the thumb drive. Eliot handed it to him and Reid crossed to a computer set up on the round table in the center of the room. The big screen came to life, blood and burnt flesh and bodies broken filled the screen in a rush.

Hotchner's eyes scanned the screen, flicking to Eliot and back. "Get Penelope up here," he said aside to Morgan. "Reid, gather the team."

When they had both left the room, Hotchner turned to him. "I gather that you didn't come by this evidence legally."

Eliot crossed his arms and waited.

"I'm fully aware of who you are, Mr. Spencer. I pulled your file after our last encounter."

Eliot inclined his head. "Fair enough. You know I ain't playing then. This man is dangerous."

"I thought dangerous was what you did." Hotchner said, his eyes narrowing.

Eliot conceded that point. "Maybe, when I don't have a team to protect. This here is beyond them and I can't go after him and protect them at the same time." He glanced at the screen. "This man isn't abducting runaways and prostitutes, not any more. The people in these videos are regular people."

"You have an idea what he's doing with the bodies?" Hotchner asked.

Eliot licked his lips and nodded. "He's a slippery son of a bitch, his public footprint is very small. One of the few things we found were some property holdings. Three of them have incinerators hot enough to cremate a body."

Hotchner nodded. A blond woman in bright pink came into the room, flinching as her eyes took in the screen. "Is that for me?"

"Penelope, I need you to make sense of what's on that thumb drive. We need a timeline, and we need to establish how many victims we have."

Eliot watched them set to work, inching toward the door. Now that he had them on board, he needed to get the fuck out of there, get home, convince Nate to sit this one out.

"You're not thinking about sneaking out of here, are you?" Spencer asked as Eliot reached the door.

Eliot smirked at him. "Thinking about it."

"Don't."

He wasn't sure what he heard in the single word, or felt in the way Spencer's hand touched his arm before he was stepping out of the way as the rest of the team filtered into the room. Eliot waited for them to move past him, then stepped through the door. Spencer came with him, his hand still on Eliot's arm. His eyes were bright as they met Eliot's.

"I'll find you when you get to Portland." Eliot said softly.

"You're assuming we'll come."

"Trust me. You will."

 

 

"The FBI, are you kidding me?"

Nate was furious. Eliot didn't care.

"Yes, Nate. The FBI. We can't get involved."

"And what about our client?"

"What about him?" Eliot asked, shaking his head. "You're the one who said he didn't want money, didn't want anything specific. He just wants Coleman brought down. Fine. Let the FBI do it."

"Right, because they're so good at that."

Eliot chuckled and put down the knife he'd been twirling between his fingers. "I'm not talking about the bumblers you're used to dealing with. I'm talking about high level profilers. The kind that catch serial killers."

Nate's eyes narrowed in his direction. "The kid on the mountain."

Eliot nodded. "Yeah, the kid on the mountain. Look, this is not our job. Let them handle it."

"What if they can't?"

Eliot had actually considered that. He had a plan. One he knew Spencer would never approve, even Nate would try to talk him out of. He nodded. "I aim to make sure they do."

"So it isn't our kind of job, but it is yours?" Nate asked, his eyes finally showing some understanding.

"Something like that." He crossed his arms, looked Nate over. "Think of it as a vacation. You and Sophie go…do whatever. Hardison and Parker can go to that robot thing Hardison was on about."

It took a long moment, but eventually, Nate stood back and nodded. "Okay. This one's yours."

Eliot nodded and watched him go. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Hardison. "Shut up and listen. I need you to activate an alias for me."

"Okay, give me the details."

"We already prepped it, I just need you to get me papers, lay in some travel background, give me an apartment in one your buildings to work out of."

"What's the name?"

Eliot hesitated for a brief second. "Harold Manning."

Hardison was quiet for a long minute. "Why you activating him, Eliot?"

"Just do it. Don't ask questions. Make it look like I've been in Portland off and on for the last ten years. Make it good, this guy will know…" He shook his head. "How long you need?"

"Give me two hours."

"And then you and Parker get out of town for a few days." Eliot shoved his phone in his pocket and checked the time.

 

 

Eliot watched as Morgan and Reid left the hotel, getting into a big SUV. He waited a heartbeat more, then crossed the street and slipped into the hotel lobby, smiling at the clerk at the desk.

"Hello, I'm looking for Special Agent Hotchner?"

"One moment."

She picked up her phone and dialed a number, smiling at him. "He'll be down momentarily."

"Thank you."

Eliot left the desk, moving to casually lean against a pillar where he couldn't be seen easily from the windows or door, and he had a clear line of sight of the elevators. Hotchner spotted him the moment the doors opened and beckoned him. Eliot nodded, glancing around him before heading for the elevator.

They didn't speak until the doors closed. Then Eliot nodded. "I noticed you didn't bring your whole team."

He nodded in return. "Couldn't justify it until we have more to go on."

"That's what I figured."

"There isn't anything in the data you gave us to implicate anyone of the crimes."

"He's good." Eliot agreed, following him out of the elevator and toward a room. "He's not going to get caught easily. We need to trip him up."

"We?" Hotchner raised an eyebrow at him.

"I got you this far."

"Reid mentioned that you didn't like to leave things unfinished."

"I don't, not when I can help." They moved into the room, Eliot let his eyes flash around before coming back to the agent.

"How is it you plan to help?"

Eliot crossed his arms and looked him in the eye. "You need a way to tie him to the crimes. He needs a challenging victim."

"I'm listening."

"Harold Manning." Eliot said the name carefully. He inhaled and let it out slowly. "It's an alias I spent a while cultivating. He's ex-military, killer. I built in a history that should pique our guy's interest, particularly after the FBI starts blaming Manning for his victims."

"Play on his narcissism and pride." Hotchner nodded.

"His last victims were a former cop and a former marine. He's upping the ante. He won't be able to resist taking a killer."

Hotchner crossed his arms. "He'll come after you."

Eliot smiled slow. "And I'll let him take me. You just have to make sure you find me before he gets bored."

"I don't like this. It's too dangerous."

"It's the only way. You're going to have to catch him in the act." Eliot nodded. "I can take it. It's what I do."

 

 

 

 

He had to admit, Reid's team was good. The story was leaked to the press linking some of the names in Coleman's lists together, speculating that one person was responsible.

Eliot had been directly in front of Coleman's office building when they came for him, Morgan throwing punches and taking a few in return before Eliot went down and let them cuff him and haul him away.

They stewed at the local police station for nearly twelve hours before Mr. Harold Manning was released due to lack of evidence. Eliot walked out of the police station with only a single shot at being located, one he'd borrowed from Hardison.

It was little more than a metal ball, tiny and attached to a strand of hair near his scalp. It gave off a specific radiation signature, one that posed no harm to him, but could be tracked with the right equipment. There were no signals for Coleman to block. Reid's team just had to stay on top of it.

Spencer had argued with him over the plan, as Eliot had expected. Pleaded with him not to go through with it. The rest of the team was on-route, due to be there within moments of Eliot leaving the police station.

His phone rang as he let himself into the apartment Hardison had set up for him in Manning's name. "What," he growled into the phone.

"What is going on, Eliot? That ID is blowing up." Hardison sounded strained.

"I told you it was going to get hot." Eliot said, stopping two feet into the apartment. He wasn't alone. "I'm going to have to call you back." He lowered the phone and turned, but he wasn't fast enough. A fist slammed into his face and he staggered backward. The assailant followed him, landing another punch before something cold pricked his neck and Eliot's hand dropped the phone under the table as his ability to control his body faded.

 

 

 

Eliot fought his way up through a haze of drugs, opening his eyes to a blur of orange light and shadows. He blinked and tried to remember where he was supposed to be.

The air was stifling hot and thick with the smell of smoke. He turned his head slowly, squinting into the shadows. The room was small. The heat and orange glow was coming from somewhere behind him. He was on his back, on something hard. His hands and feet restrained.

"You finally decided to join me," a voice said nearby. "It is my own fault really. A man with your reputation required a heavy dose. I didn't want you waking up before I had you secure."

Eliot blinked as the speaker came into view. He was a tall man, with strong shoulders and big hands that moved toward Eliot now. "You are a very bad man, Mr. Manning."

His hand was hot as it descended to sit on Eliot's bare chest. "The FBI is wrong, of course, about how bad you are. But they won't have to worry about you anymore." His hand moved and Eliot tried to follow his movements, but gave up as his head started to spin. "We will begin as soon as the drugs have worked their way out of your system."

He told himself to stay calm. Give Reid and the others a chance to work. He tested the restraints and tried to get a better idea of the room he was in. It wasn't much. From what he could tell the heat and light were both pouring out of a huge oven behind him and to his left. Close enough that the heat stung against his skin on that side.

The table under him seemed to be metal, the restraints built in to it, probably a medical exam table of some kind. He had no sense of how long he'd been out, but judging by the thickness in his head, the dose had been pretty strong. He breathed in deep and exhaled slowly. He had no doubt that Spencer would find him…but he also had no doubt that he would hurt before that happened.

 

 

"There is no shame in screaming, Mr. Manning."

Eliot breathed through the lancing pain, his eyes closed. Sweat covered his body and the fire in his thigh only intensified the heat. The smell of burning flesh overpowered the other smells for the moment as Coleman lifted the metal rod, examining the now cooling end of it that he had just thrust into Eliot's thigh.

He moved in the small space, back to the oven, settling the rod back into the heat. "I have found in my years doing this that trying so hard not to scream is a waste of precious energy that you will need as we continue.

"Didn't plan on being here that long." Eliot growled.

Manning came back into his line of sight, smiling. His hand ghosted down over Eliot's chest and stomach, stopping just above the newest of the burns on his thigh. "I do like to draw out the experiment, take my time." His thumb pressed into the charred skin and Eliot did everything he could to pull away. "Come on now, let it out." He pressed harder until Eliot couldn't have stopped the scream that tore up out of his throat. As soon as he did, the pain eased and Coleman petted his hand down over Eliot's leg. "See now, isn't that better?"

"You are a sick fuck." Eliot said softly when he'd caught his breath.

"Perhaps, but then so are you, Mr. Manning." He circled the table, moving to the cart that held his instruments. He lifted a file folder. "According to your file, you skinned a man's arm in Los Angeles, before you forced him to drink poison."

"He had it coming." Eliot said, closing his eyes again. He couldn't breathe deeply without coughing, so he kept his breathing shallow and tried to focus again. He was having trouble keeping track of time, but at least twenty four hours had passed since he'd been grabbed. Unless Coleman had managed to get him completely out of the city, they had to be coming soon.

"Did you manage to take all the skin in one go, or did you have to do it in pieces?"

Eliot heard him put down the folder, heard him rummaging through his tools. The blade was hot as the point dragged down his arm, not cutting, not yet. “I may have to try that before we’re finished.” Coleman said.

He backed away again, all but the white hot point of the blade that traced over Eliot’s stomach. “You know, I had a cop here recently. Put a bullet through his belly on the first day, just so I could watch how an untreated gunshot wound would affect him. In the end, it was the infection that killed him.”

Eliot bit his tongue even as the blade bit a little deeper, breaking skin as it moved over his hip. It wasn’t deep, but the burn and sting of the cut, of the hot air against the raw skin, was biting. “I take great pride in my work. I pay a lot of attention to the details. I like to design your pain around your own personality.”

His fingers slid along the cut, playing along the edge, then inside it. “You, for example, clearly know how to handle pain. The trick for you is finding the level of pain that exceeds your threshold. Perhaps we can begin with a few broken bones.”

Eliot’s eyes opened just before the hammer hit and his scream reverberated around the small space as his ankle shattered under the blow.

 

 

“FBI!”

“Get down!”

“Drop the knife!”

“Eliot?” The voice was tender, shaky as feather light hands touched him. “Eliot, can you hear me?”

“Medic!”

“He’s breathing.” Reid. Spencer Reid. Eliot tried to open his eyes, but they weren’t cooperating. His hand moved, the one that didn’t feel like it weighed two hundred pounds. Reid’s slender hand caught his and held. “It’s okay, Eliot. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Spence—“

“Sh…don’t talk.”

The noise grew as others joined them, as medics started working on him. Eliot clung to Reid’s hand though, squeezing tight when he tried to pull away. They got him moved onto a gurney, an IV running into him. Spencer walked beside him as they wheeled him out. “Don’t…” Eliot pulled on his hand until he could feel Spencer leaning in close. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna pass out again.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” Reid assured, his lips brushing Eliot’s cheek.

 

 

His next real thought was that it was too quiet. And soft. His left eye opened easily enough, but his right seemed to be held down, covered in bandages. The room was white, but the lights were dimmed. He licked his lips and tried to feel out the extent of his injuries, but the drugs that kept everything all soft inside him meant he couldn’t really tell.

Slowly, he turned his head, blinking a little to clear his vision. Spencer was asleep in the chair beside him, looking very uncomfortable.

Beside him something beeped, and he could feel the push of drugs into him, the pull on his thoughts.

 

 

There was someone in the room, but it wasn’t Reid when Eliot next crawled his way up toward consciousness.

“You are one stubborn son of a bitch.” Agent Morgan said as he opened his one eye.

Eliot blinked at him, then glanced around him for Spencer.

“I sent Reid to get some sleep and food and a shower. Told him I’d stay with you until he got back.”

“Don’t need a babysitter.” Eliot said, his voice sounding odd in his ears.

“Ain’t doing it for you.” Morgan countered, snagging the chair to pull closer. He dropped into it, shaking his head at Eliot.

“What’s the damage?” Eliot asked, attempting to sit up, then giving up the attempt as he started to feel past the drugs.

“That right leg is pretty bad, ankle and femur broken, knee torn up. Left arm broken in two places plus those fingers were all dislocated, two cracked ribs, bruising to all of your major organs, burns on all four extremities, cuts along your stomach, thighs, couple of which needed stitching. Doctor’s had you under medically for the last three days.”

Three days. Eliot inhaled, feeling inside him for how bad it actually was, whether or not he could move if he needed to. Hospitals weren’t his style.

“Don’t even think about it.” Morgan said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Don’t like hospitals.” Eliot responded, his eye tracking up to the IV.

“You don’t have to like them.” Morgan glanced out the doorway. “You had visitors, looks like they’re coming back.

“Visitors?” Eliot turned his head as a figure filled the doorway. “Nate.”

Morgan stood. “I’ll give you some time.”

“You look like crap.” Nate said as Morgan left the room.

“Looks worse than it is.” Eliot said. “I was already thinking about getting out of here.”

“I don’t think your FBI friends will like that too much.” Nate stopped at the end of the bed.

“None of their business.” Eliot countered, trying to suppress the yawn. His body was making it obvious he wasn’t ready for much more than getting more sleep.

“You need to get your strength back.” Sophie said from the doorway, slipping in to stand beside Nate. “Let us worry about the clean up.”

“Clean up?” Eliot’s eye was drooping, and he had to force it to open. He hated being this far gone, though he felt a little better to know that Nate had his back. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t stay awake.

 

 

 

 

Eliot was impatient as Reid pushed the wheelchair out to the car, cradling his left hand in his lap. Most of the rest of his team was gone, just Morgan hanging back with Reid.

Morgan held the door to the car as they approached and Reid stepped on the brake before coming around to help Eliot up. He got his left foot on the ground and stood, pivoting slowly until he could ease back into the car. “Seriously?” Eliot asked as Reid’s hands slide down to his foot, helping him lift it and set it into the car. Reid just smiled back at him.

“I’m not an invalid.” Eliot groused as Reid got in the car.

“I know.”

Morgan got behind the wheel and set them moving, out into traffic. The sky was heavy with clouds and Eliot frowned as he realized they were taking him to his one of his safe houses.

“Don’t be angry.” Reid said as they pulled up out front. “Your friend Hardison gave us the address.”

Eliot shook his head and added it to the reasons he would one day kill the hacker as Reid got his door open and Morgan brought the wheelchair from the back. He disliked using it, hated how limited his mobility was, but his ankle wasn’t going to bear weight for a while and crutches were out of the question with his arm all busted up.

He let Reid help him into the chair and let him push him into the building. Morgan moved ahead of them to unlock the door, presumably with keys he got from Hardison too.

Eliot wasn’t entirely sure how they’d managed it, but between the FBI and Nate and Hardison, Harold Manning was dead, the last victim of serial killer Mark Coleman, who was currently under indictment on at least 27 counts of murder, based entirely on evidence found at the scene where they’d found him in the act.

Reid pushed him into the living room, then turned to get a small duffle bag from Morgan. They stood close together at the door, not really touching, speaking in soft tones. Eliot felt like he was intruding on some private moment and looked away.

“Take care of yourself, Spencer.” Morgan said suddenly, and Eliot realized he was speaking to him, not Reid.

The door closed and Reid sighed, dropping his bag on the chair next to Eliot. “So…are you hungry?”

Eliot shook his head. “Spencer, what are you doing?”

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t need to stay with me.” He turned, looking up at him. “I’m fine.”

“I have a few vacation days coming.” His fingers played down the zipper of his jacket. “I thought…is it okay?”

Eliot sighed and rubbed his face. The truth was he was going to need help for a few days, until his ankle was strong enough to hold him. And as company went, the FBI profiler wasn’t the worst he could have. “Yeah, Spence. Yeah, it’s okay.”

 

 

It didn’t take much to wipe him out and after pizza and a lot of talking about nothing, Eliot was yawning and Spencer helped him into the bedroom. It was a ridiculous amount of work to strip him down to his boxers and Eliot was sweating as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Spencer was very focused, all business as he helped him lift the injured leg and lay down, his hands softer than they needed to be, his eyes filled with concern. Eliot caught his hand as he pulled away, his thumb rubbing over Reid’s knuckles.

“You know you don’t owe me anything here.”

Reid bit his lip and sat tentatively on the edge of the bed. “It feels like I do.”

Eliot brought his hand up closer to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the dry skin. Spencer didn’t pull away, though his eyes darted away and back. “I’m fine, Spencer.”

“You nearly died.”

“Didn’t though. I’m right here.”

He nodded, his eyes on Eliot’s chest. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

“You weren’t going to catch him any other way.” Eliot shifted uncomfortably, wishing he didn’t still hurt as much as he did.

“It was dangerous.”

He shook his head. “I had you to find me.”

“We almost didn’t.”

“Almost doesn’t count.” Eliot said, letting go of his hand to reach for his chin, make him look up. “Hey, what’s going on in there?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

Reid sighed, pulled his hand away. “I’m…every time I see you…” He shook his head, pacing along the end of the bed. “Morgan says you are not a good man.”

Eliot pushed himself up to sitting, realizing this was more of a conversation than he could have on his back. “Morgan’s right.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes at him. “No. He isn’t.”

“Spencer, I thought we decided the last time—“

“No. You decided. Both times.” He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and went back to pacing. “Not that you were wrong. I mean, it’s crazy to even consider. You’re a criminal.”

“Like I said, not a good guy.” Eliot agreed, watching him pace.

“Yet, every time I’ve seen you, you’ve done good things.”

“No. That first—“

Reid held up a hand to cut him off. “That first time you were trying to save a child.”

“I didn’t though.”

“And last time, you helped save a couple from a serial rapist and murderer, while saving me too.”

“Just because I’ve done a few good things doesn’t mean I’m a good man.” Eliot said quietly. “You don’t know about the bad things.”

“I know enough.” He came to sit on the bed again, his hand sliding into Eliot’s. “Trust me, Morgan read your file out loud to me to make me agree with him.”

“I’m surprised he left you with me then.”

Reid smiled softly. “He’s a good guy. Little overprotective.”

“So you and him…” Eliot let his voice trail off, watching the smile change, then fade.

“He isn’t you.” Reid said, as if that answered the question. “He knows that.” He leaned in, brushing his lips over Eliot’s, soft and chaste. “Just like I know that you and I will never have anything more than nights like this…and one of us will always be walking away.”

Eliot lifted his head, his lips a little more aggressive, his tongue slipping across to caress Spencer’s lips. “Might have to be you this time.” Eliot said softly, letting his head fall back to the pillow.

“It is my turn.” Spencer agreed.

Eliot smiled. “It is.”

“But not tonight.” Spencer whispered, following him, his lips chasing Eliot’s.

“Not tonight.” Eliot repeated. It was not a good idea, he knew that…getting into bed with the FBI…but at least this time it was his own bed.


End file.
